


Partners & Proteges

by RedGrnBlu



Series: Bludhaven: City of Birds [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-10 17:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20532014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedGrnBlu/pseuds/RedGrnBlu
Summary: After a period of amnesia, the original protege of Batman has recovered his memories of being Robin and Nightwing. Can taking on a partner of his own help Dick Grayson find himself again?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To hopefully avoid any confusion, this story takes place in the future after the events of Nightwing #50 (and Batman #55), and even though this hasn’t actually happened yet in the comics, after Dick Grayson gets his memory back (Assuming that happens at all? We’ll see.).

**Bludhaven: City of Birds**

**Book 1: Partners & Proteges**

**Prologue**

**Then.**

“Gotham is a city of birds-- a city of Owls.”

_ This sucks. All of this sucks. _

“Without us, nothing will ever change.” 

_ I just  _ had  _ to come back to Gotham.  _

“And you? You’ll neer be more than an imitation Wayne--and a knockoff Bat.”

_ This guy really thinks I haven’t heard this before? _

“But  _ with  _ us, Richard? Well…”

_ He’s still talking. Why do they always talk for so long? _

“You could be the greatest bird of all.”

_ Ugh. _

Dick Grayson winced, partially due to the irritating end of William Cobb’s speech, and partially due to the knife lodged in his shoulder. 

“You're wrong about Gotham not changing, William. It  _ does _ change. Take this subway, for example”. Dick glanced up at the pipes in the ceiling. 

Not so long ago, he was in Gotham City Hall, trying to protect Mayor Hady and the Deputy Mayor from the Talons--reanimated-corpse assassins of Gotham’s secret society: the Court of Owls. 

But a battle with William Cobb, a “Talon” of the Court of Owls, and his alleged Great-Grandfather, dragged him away from City Hall and onto subway platform 23.

“As the city became more modern, the power companies needed a way to insulate their cables. So they started packing the lines with liquid nitrogen.” Nightwing smirked at Cobb. “Which is why I brought you down here. Because Talons don’t like the cold."

Cobb’s eyes widened, and he lunged forward faster than anyone’s great-grandfather should be able to move. 

He was seven feet from Nightwing when the former boy wonder flung three razor-sharp wingdings at the pipes above them, and five feet from his grandson when the wingdings pierced the pipes. Cobb could only get as close as two feet before the liquid nitrogen froze his body solid.

Nightwing brushed off his hands, admittedly just for show, as he was wearing gloves. 

“I’ll tell you what I  _ embrace _ , WIlliam. What I embrace…” Dick hoisted his ancestor’s frozen body over his shoulder and began walking toward the tunnel’s exit, “Is that destinies don’t exist.”

* * *

“Dick,” Batman’s rough, gravelly voice changed to the warmer, softer voice of Bruce Wayne, “listen.

I know it must have been hard, finding out that you were meant to be a Talon, to be one of the owls.”

“Well thank you B--” Dick was cut off.

“I’m not done. I know it might seem like I saved you from that destiny, but you could never have been one of them.  _ Never _ . They might have seen something in you, back then, but so did I.” 

More than he cared to admit, Dick often tuned out the words of his mentor. When he started out as Robin, he was a sponge, soaking up everything Batman said or did, and trying to internalize it--to make it part of himself. 

But as time went on, these speeches given to him at the end of a mission started blending together. It was always the same. The dynamic duo had saved the day, but something terrible had  _ almost _ happened in the process. Occasionally, something terrible actually  _ had  _ happened. 

After so many close calls and lectures, Dick pretty much knew whatever Batman was going to say. But this wasn’t Batman talking. It was Bruce. The human side of his surrogate father. So naturally, Dick was avoiding eye contact, but intently listening.

“..and the truth is, I didn’t save you from some dark fate, those years ago. You saved  _ me  _ from one.” 

Dick blinked back a tear--it couldn't have been more than one; superheroes don’t cry-- and turned toward Bruce. It was one of those moments when--even though he didn’t actually say the words, Batman was saying ‘I love you.’

“And you still are saving me, every day,” Bruce finished. Dick held eye contact with his father for a moment. 

_ Think of something, brain, come on! _

In reality, he thought of a thousand things to say to his father. A thousand thoughts that he had always wanted to say, and perhaps always will want to say. But Dick knew it wasn’t the right time for any of those thoughts.

Dick rubbed his jaw, bruised from a punch thrown by a carbon-fiber-gloved fist. Another strange way of Batman saying ‘I love you.’ The punch was thrown to knock Nightwing unconscious in the wake of the Court of Owls’ attack--to keep him safe. 

“Dammit, Bruce. Now I can’t hit you.” Nightwing smiled, just as Robin smiled. “I’ll just have to do it some other time. It’s fine, though. I’ll just sneak up and surprise you.” 

The corner of Bruce Wayne’s mouth twitched. The Batman version of knee-slapping laughter. 

“You’ll try.”

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Now.**

“Dick! DICK!”

Clear blue eyes snapped open.

_ “Witnesses?” _

Dick’s head throbbed. His body ached. His hand… What was in his hand?

_ “Got conflicting reports.” _

His right hand gripped a knife tightly, pushing it up something warm and soft. Skin. The skin of a neck. A throat. A person’s jugular vein. 

_ “Everything from a six-year-old girl to a one-armed man.” _

Dick’s eyes shot up. A man. Handsome features. Messy dark hair. Fierce blue eyes, open wide. He was laying on the ground, pinned there by Dick’s body. 

_ “That’s the problem with napkin man.” _

Dick blinked. The man was different--a black mask covered the top of his face. Two point--ears?--stood from the top of his head. 

_ “He just doesn’t--” _

Another blink. The same masked face, but behind it--about to whistle past it, a bullet. Dick blinked again. Then screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth. 

_ “How are you feeling, Dick?” _

He could feel the bullet bore into the side of his head, just missing his temple. The pain should have knocked him unconscious, but every time he felt himself pass out, he was awake again, his skin burning, his skull being drilled. 

_ “You’ve been--you got--you were shot. In the head. But you’re okay--you’re in the hospital. I’m here.” _

The hole in his skull is the break in a dam, thousands of memories flood out--no-- _ IN _ .

_ “To fight crime and corruption and never swerve from the path of justice” _

“Bruce.” 

Dick looked into his father’s face. He felt dizzy, fluish. 

_ Can’t throw up on Bruce-- _

“On with it, my Gray Son!” A ragged voice pierced Dick’s thoughts. More memories faded into his mind. 

He was in a cave. A tunnel deep under the city of Bludhaven-- _ his _ city. Bruce Wayne-- _ Batman _ was pinned beneath him. In his right hand he held a six inch long silver blade with a decorative hilt, made to look like a feathered wing. 

On his right, a wall of candles. On his left, the man with the haggard face spoke again. William Cobb. “What keeps you, Richard? He watched as your parents died. He did not allow you to avenge them. He watched you get shot, nearly killed!”

“Dick.” Bruce’s voice was soft, and his eyes seemed to shine.

“With the blade in your hand, you will avenge your family, Gray Son. You will earn your place with the Court, Richard.” Cobb’s eyes were open wide, but showed no life. There was no color in his iris, only blackness. Dead eyes. 

“My name is Dick.”

In less than a second, Nightwing’s knees on the ground were in the air, his body twisting, propelled by his left hand against the cave floor. His right arm was a blur, a flicker of motion, and suddenly the feathery hilt of the blade sprung from Cobb’s throat.

Cobb’s hands grasped for his neck, but in another moment Nightwing was upon him. The students of Batman were instructed not to attack with full their strength to avoid dealing a lethal blow, but William Cobb had died long ago. There was no reason to hold back. A quick jab dislocated Cobb’s right shoulder, cutting the silence of the cave with a sharp  _ CRACK _ . 

Only a microsecond of quiet passed before a chilling  _ SNAP-AP-AP _ called out from Cobb’s knee. Nightwing’s kick was placed perfectly, and the force behind it was unbridled. More than enough to severe the tendons of his great-grandfather. 

Cobb began falling toward the ground, but even in the midst of toppling over, his body was already trying to put itself back together. His shoulder popped back into place, and his knee started bending, but then a black blade sprouted from his chest.

Dick didn’t need to turn around to know who threw the batarang--he didn’t even need to think about it. A blue foam dispensed from the blade, building on itself and spreading across the Talon’s body. 

A gurgling sound came from Cobb’s throat, but the silver knife embedded in it would not allow him to form words.

“Good work, Nightwing.”

A strong hand grasped Dick’s shoulder, and he whirled around to embrace his father. 

“It’s good to see you, Bruce.” 

* * *

“Bludhaven is the city of Nightwing-- _ the  _ Nightwing. You did good, Ric.” Colleen Edwards offered a warm smile and extended her hand. 

Dick turned toward the former detective who had taken up the Nightwing mantle when he lost his memory. One of four of the Nightwings. The four heroes who stood in for Dick when a bullet to his head gave him a case of amnesia that specifically affected his memories of being a superhero. 

Until about two hours ago, Dick had no recollection of his time as Robin, nor Nightwing. He didn’t know who Batman was, he didn’t know any of the Bat-Family--he didn’t even know who Bruce Wayne was. He had roamed around the city of Bludhaven as Ric Grayson for six months, driving a taxi during the day and occasionally joining up with the Nightwings to fight crime at night.

It took the trauma of nearly killing his mentor--his adoptive father, to cause his memories to return. Just as he was figuring out how to be Ric Grayson, he was once again Dick Grayson. But now he had two pieces of a puzzle that _almost_ fit together, but not perfectly. He _was_ Dick Grayson, in the past and the present. But in between the past and present, he was Ric. Knowing he had to get out of his own head, he shook it quickly.

“It’s-- it’s actually Dick. Thank you, Detect--err, Commissioner Edwards.” Dick shook Colleen’s hand, then looked around the rooftop of the Bludhaven Police Department. “Thank you.”

The rich baritone timbre of Malcolm Hutch reverberated through the night air. “Well,  _ actually _ Dick, we’re supposed to be thanking you.” It was good to see Hutch laughing. The firefighter, and another of the Nightwings, was supporting himself on crutches. His leg was broken in two places by Cobb.

Dick felt two ghosts on the roof with them. Zak Edwards, Colleen’s younger brother, was stabbed eight times by Cobb and pinned to a billboard, left to bleed out. Cobb used Zak’s body as a greeting card to let Dick know he had returned. 

Alphonse Sapiensa, the leader of the Nightwings, had his neck snapped by Cobb because he refused to reveal Dick’s location. Another death that would weigh on Dick’s shoulders for the rest of his life. 

“I’m so sorry. You’ve both lost so much.” Dick looked down at the floor, he couldn’t meet the former Nightwings’ eyes. “And all because I wasn’t doing my job.”

“Hey, we knew the risks.” Colleen said quietly. After Zak was killed, Colleen shed her Nightwing costume and help the other ‘Wings track down Cobb from within the legal system, as Detective Edwards. Her work resulted in her promotion, but Dick doubted that was worth losing her brother. “Don’t worry, Nightwing. We don’t blame you. We’re just glad you’re back.”

Malcolm glanced at his watch. “Well I don’t know about you guys, but I’m exhausted. And since William Cobb is frozen solid and headed to Blackgate Prison, I’d say we earned a good night’s sleep.” 

Colleen chuckled and began walking toward the stairwell. “I’d say you’re right, Hutch.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Then.**

“Uh-oh.” 

Hank smirked at his younger brother, quickly and smoothly crossing the basketball from his right hand to his left. He jabbed his right foot forward, then pulled it back and elevated his body, extending his arms and flicking his wrist. He watched as the ball sailed over his brother’s head and toward the basket--

_ Swish. _

“Uh-oh, is right, dude. That’s 21 for me. Good game, Tanner.” Hank laughed and reached out his hand for a fist bump--the ultimate show of sportsmanship.

“No, I mean uh-oh, it’s dark out. We should probably get back.” Hank turned around, following his brother’s gaze to a window that revealed the night sky of Gotham. 

“Whoops. You know, I’m supposed to be the one to say that to you. I’m older, I’m the responsible one.” Hank turned around once more to see Tanner picking up their backpacks. 

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Hank.” Tanner gave him a wry smile, much too wry for a ten year old to give his thirteen-year-old brother. Hank rolled his eyes and snatched his backpack from his brother.

“Let’s go, already. Hopefully they haven’t thrown away our dinner.”

The two boys exited the Martha Wayne Community Center, hopping down the steps two at a time before beginning their walk. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been around here when it’s dark,” Tanner said quietly.

“It’s cool, right? Like a whole different world at night!”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“T, we only have to walk like four blocks--basically only three now. There’s no reason to be scared.” Hank teased his brother plenty, but he knew how to pick his moments. This was not one of them. This was serious, reassuring older brother time.

“I’m not scared, Hank. I was just stating a fact,” Tanner stated matter-of-factly. He sped up his walk to pass Hank and take the lead, proving that he was not scared. “Gotham stopped being scary to me a long time ago.”

“You’re not going to tell the Batman and Robin story again are you?” _ Now _, Hank was teasing. In sync, the boys glanced at either side of the street, then crossed. 

“Well I’m certainly not going to tell it, now, Henry.” Tanner stopped in front of a thin, small gate which blocked an alleyway and turned to Hank expectantly. 

“Ouch, the full name treatment.” Hank quickly got on one knee and locked his hands together, boosting his younger brother up so he could clamber over the gate. Traditionally, this would be the time when Tanner would unlock the gate so that Hank could come through, but instead he folded his arms and stood still.

Hank met his brother’s curious gray eyes. Tanner probably didn’t know anything about poker, but he’d be a hell of a player. He could make his face impossible to read. But Hank knew exactly what Tanner wanted to hear.

“Will you please tell the Batman and Robin story, T?” 

Tanner’s poker face broke into a self-satisfied smile, revealing the dimples the brothers shared. If it weren’t for his gray eyes and deep brown hair, Tanner would have been the spitting image of Hank. But Hank’s sandy hair and green eyes always helped their foster parents to tell them apart.

“I will, Henry, thank you for asking.” Tanner unlatched the gate and the pair started through the alleyway. “It was a dark and stormy night, but that’s normal for Gotham. Jared and I sort of wanted to go to the convenience store and get a snack, but you and Aubrey told us no...”

Hank chortled at the memory. Two of their closest friends in their former foster home. They were an inseparable quartet. 

“And so of course we _ had _to go, because we knew that both of you were just being dumb and trying to impress each other by acting like grownups.”

“One: I was not trying to impress her, and two: she was _ definitely _not trying to impress me.” Hank rolled his eyes. “We were strictly friends.”

“You _ are _ strictly friends, Hank. They’re not dead. And anyway, you _ definitely _were trying to impress her. She is your first true love.” Tanner had the gift of speaking so confidently that he could fool people into thinking all his words were factual. The brothers stepped out of the alley and turned right onto the streetlamp lit sidewalk. One block from the home.

“I’m sorry, is this a Hank and Aubrey story? Because I thought it was a Batman and Robin st--” 

_ POP POP. _

Two gunshots rang out from behind the brothers. Hank whirled around and instinctively put his body in front of the sound and his brother. Down the road, Hank could just make out three figures moving toward the pair. 

“T, get back in the alley.” 

Hank started slowly backing toward the alley, away from the light, allowing the darkness to swallow him, and more importantly protect Tanner. Down the street, one voice shouting. 

“Stop! You are resisting arrest! Police!” 

_ POP. _

“Hank, come on!” Tanner pulled Hank’s arm back further into the alley. Hank turned toward his

brother and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark.

_ Think fast, Hank. Somewhere for Tanner to hide… Fire escape! _

“Here, T, you go up here!” Hank whispered urgently as he pulled down the ladder. As he listened to the shouting and footsteps getting closer and closer, Hank hoisted his brother up to grab the ladder. “Climb. Fast.”

Tanner scurried up the ladder. Hank heard heavy breathing and footsteps right around the corner. “_ Do. Not. Move. _” Hank folded the ladder back up, then dashed to the other side of the alley, crouching behind a dumpster. 

The footsteps had arrived. Two men in black raced into the alley. One of them carried a backpack tightly and clutched tightly at the straps.

_ Thieves. _

“What do we do? Hide? Run?”

_ Run. Please run away. _

“Up the fire escape, go, go!” 

_ No. _

Hank’s heart froze. He knew he had to move, to help Tanner, but he couldn’t move. Backpack started unfolding the ladder--

_ POP. POP. _

Backpack dropped to the ground with a sickening thud. No-Pack quickly dropped as well.

“Jesus.”

_ No cry of pain, no trouble speaking. He’s not hit. _

The officer sprinted into the alley, stopping when he reached the bodies. Hank opened his mouth to warn the officer, but he couldn’t make any sound. His entire mouth had dried up. No-Pack grabbed the officer’s leg and pulled it out from under him. 

With a grunt, the officer fell to the ground. Hank heard several more grunts as he watched the officer and the thief wrestle on the ground. They fought for control of the gun. 

Hank’s eyes were on the barrel of the officer’s pistol as it was jerked around in the struggle. Wherever the gun was pointing, Hank saw a laser pointer of potential death. The barrel passed over him once, twice, three times--

_ POP. POP. _

A pained cry came from No-Pack as he slumped to the ground. The officer began to stand up, breathing heavily, and finally met Hank’s eyes. His eyes widened in surprise.

“You saw all that, son? I’m so sorr--”

_ THUD. _

A shadow had dropped down from above. Hank couldn’t breathe. His brother lay on the alley floor, clutching at his chest.

“NO! TANNER!” 

Hank rushed to his brother’s side. His ten year old brother. His only family.

“Please. Please, T. Please be okay.” Hank couldn’t feel bile rise in his throat. He couldn’t feel tears leaving his eyes.

“Hank...” Tanner’s face was tear streaked. His small hands pressed against the bullet hole in his shirt hopelessly. “There’s so much blood. I’m so scared.” His gray eyes were no longer curious. They were terrified. And then they were blank.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Now.**

“Hank. Hank. Hank. Henry. Hank. Hank.”

Deep green eyes unglazed, but Hank rubbed them just for good measure. Zoning out was nothing new.

“Sorry, so sorry, what’s up Kenz?” 

Hank looked across the table at his friends. Mackenzie “Kenzie” Reed. Shoulder length fiery red hair, a spray of freckles, and hazel eyes stared back at him.

“Are. You. Coming. Over. Tonight.” Kenzie poked him with each word. 

“Oh, I dunno, Kenz. I have work, and you know we have that test coming up in Physics--”

“Yeah, dummy, that’s why we’re going to Kenzie’s house.” Hank turned toward Will Bennett to see his dark brown eyes peering at him over a water bottle. Will finished drinking and exhaled loudly to announce he was refreshed. “Physics study group! We’ll learn all about pendulums and shit.” 

“And we’re gonna get drunk as hell too.” Will and Kenz glanced over to the new voice, and Hank’s eyes followed. He knew exactly what she looked like before his eyes were on her, but he still smiled every time he saw her long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Elizabeth “Liz” Carter was a sight that was burned into his memory. “Hey, there are those dimples!”

“I heard that if you study drunk, you’re supposed to take the test drunk, too,” Hank offered. “But I’m still not sure, guys. I’m really busy at work, and this is… a boy-girl party? Coeducational?”

“Relax, Hank. All the kids in Bludhaven are doing boy-girl parties. Plus, my brother said that most of the tests he’s taken in college, he’s taken while drunk,” Will laughed. 

“How’s Lance’s GPA doing again?” Kenzie asked with a giggle. 

“Look, we’ll prove it tonight,” Liz started, “We’ll all get sloshed tonight, and then Kenz and Will can get drunk for the test. Henry and I are the control group--we’ll stay sober during the test.” Chortles filled the air around the table as Liz winked at Hank.

For a second he almost forgot where he was again, but then his brain began working again.

“Okay, I’m in.” Hank grinned. “I’ll come by after work tonight, but only because we’re doing science.” 

* * *

_ Knock, knock. _

Two raps on the open door to his office caught the attention of Scott Daniels, pulling his gaze up from the case files on his desk and toward his intruder. 

“Hank! Come in!” Scott found it hard to hold back a smile when he saw his favorite client, even when he was particularly irritated with him.

“How have you been Scott?” Hank plopped down on the chair across from Scott’s desk. “Working social or socially working, am I right?”

Scott rolled his eyes at the joke he had heard for the umpteenth time. “As I said last time, and the time before that, that  _ still  _ doesn’t make any sense, Hank.” 

Ever the charmer, Henry Duncan was. Hank’s case was brought to Scott when he was new to social work, and initially, Scott had many doubts he could handle Henry. Hank had faced more trauma in 14 years than many people would face in a lifetime. But as hesitant as he was to take Hank on, Scott felt some kind of pull toward him. 

“So, what did you want to talk about? And just FYI, I have work in 45 minutes.” Hank pulled an apple out of his backpack and took a bite with a loud  _ crunch.  _

“Well, Hank, yesterday I made a few calls… One call was to Gotham City University, another to Hudson University, and another to Bludhaven U.”

Hank wasn’t sure how he did it, but somehow Scott seemed to change the color of his eyes with his mood. Most times, Scott’s irises were a bright blue, radiating warmth and kindness. Other times, like right now, they were steely gray. 

“Ah. I see. What, uh, what did you hear from them?” Hank asked, quickly taking another bite of his apple to avoid speaking more.  _ I’m in trouble.  _

“Specifically, I called the admissions departments of each school. In each of the calls, I asked about the application status of a Henry Duncan. And do you know what they said?” Scott held across the table. “They said no one with that name had applied there.”

“Okay, look I can exp--”

“I’m still talking, Hank.” Hank had never heard Scott yell, but he had experienced this voice before. Hard as granite. Staccato tempo. Last time Scott had sounded like this, he was speaking with the New Jersey State adoption board, and demanding that he be given legal guardianship over Hank. “You’re one of the most mature 17 year old kids I know, Hank, and one of the brightest people I know, period. You are graduating from high school in less than a year. Graduating earlier than most people do. You have so much potential.”

Hank appreciated the kind words, but he had heard them before. Many times.

“You had to grow up faster than any kid should. College is a unique time when you can enjoy being a kid in an adult’s body. Time for you to find yourself--figure out who Hank Duncan is. Please, please just give it a chance.”

“I--Okay, Scott. I will, I promise.” 

Hank knew he wanted to argue, but Scott had given him so much. It was hard for Hank to disagree with him when he only wanted to keep helping. When Scott secured custody of Hank a year ago, they both moved to Bludhaven to get away from Gotham, where they both had too many rough memories.

Scott offered to take Hank in, house him, feed him, clothe him, but Hank refused to be a burden. Plus, after spending his life in a foster home, he was ready to live without a roommate. Scott found him a studio apartment and covered Hank’s rent for three months while he searched for a job.

“I want you to apply to all three of those schools. With your grades and track records, you’ll obviously get in, and then we can visit each one, together. Ask around about scholarship opportunities.” Scott’s eyes were shifting from steely gray to warm blue once again.

“You know, most of the time they just give you the scholarship automatically based on your standardized test scores. There’s not that many just, random scholarships given out anymore, old man.” As usual, Hank took the chance to tease as soon as the serious moment had passed.

“I’m barely 30, Hank. A hip young millennial. I know how scholarships work.” Scott pushed back his brown hair in an exaggerated show of annoyance. 

“Hip and young, huh? Hmm.” Hank glanced down at his phone for the time. “Hey, that reminds me, I’ve gotta run to work! Oh, and by the way, when are you coming to meet Miss Granger?” 

Scott rolled his eyes at the young man’s exaggerated wink. “I love you, Hank, but I do not need you to play matchmaker for me.”

Hank was headed out the door but stopped to turn around and seize the last word. “I showed her that picture of us at the pond--she says you’re very cute. And, I told her about your mysterious color changing eyes. She very much wants to meet you!” 

Hank’s voice lilted into a sing-songy-melody as he strode away from the door. Scott shook his head, smiling, and looked down at his paperwork. “A pleasure as always, Henry.”

* * *

Nightwing gazed across the rooftops of Bludhaven, a sight that normally set him at peace. But ever since his memories returned, he couldn’t quite feel all the way peaceful. He was hungry. Not for food, but for justice. 

He shook his head with a smirk. “What a stupid thought.”

“Are you being corny on rooftops again, Man Wonder?” 

Dick had almost forgotten he was talking with Barbara Gordon. He laughed and leapt off the roof, launching his grapple toward the next rooftop over and hearing it secure itself with a  _ thunk, ck-click.  _

“When have you known me to be corny, Batgirl?” 

“I have always known you to be corny, Nightwing. How’s the Blud?”

If the rooftops couldn’t set him at peace, talking to his oldest friend certainly helped. Since Barbara was in Gotham, he had no reason to hide the big dumb smile on his face as he sailed through the air. 

“It’s too quiet for me tonight. I feel so behind. I feel like I need to save the city three times over to catch up on the time I lost.” Nightwing heard a distant  _ oof _ over his communicator, and a quick deep breath from Babs. He wasn’t 100 percent sure, but he figured there was at least a 95 percent chance that someone had just received a roundhouse kick to the stomach.

“I know, Dick, but you can’t beat yourself up for having amnesia. I’m still just glad to have you back.”

“Did whomever you just kicked hear you say my real name?” Nightwing landed gracefully on protrusion protecting the neon signage of the _Pier City_ _Casino_ and scanned over the docks and harbors. Still nothing.

“No, he’s definitely knocked out. If there’s no action in Bludhaven, you could swing by Gotham, if you wanted…” Barbara’s voice brightened, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Dick Grayson.”

Dick’s mind was torn. Parts of him, so many parts of him wanted to go to Gotham and do just that. He hadn’t seen Barbara in person since regaining his memories, and he recalled that during his time as Ric Grayson, he was not always very kind to her. 

Barbara, more than any of the other Bat-Family members, had tried so hard to reach out to Ric, although the person she really hoped to reach was Dick. Nightwing sighed and thought of all of his memories with Barbara. His first love. His best friend--tied with Wally West, of course. 

“Babs, I would absolutely come spend time with you--I  _ will _ come see you. But for now…” Dick searched for the right words. As Ric, he had a relationship with a bartender named Bea, and even though Dick did not have feelings for her himself, he still had memories of those feelings. “It’s just hard. I don’t want to jump into anything too fast. My brain… I’m still figuring this out. Becoming me again, after being Ric, but still remembering being Ric.”

“Dick, I know.” Babs was always good at hiding the hurt in her voice, though of course Nightwing knew what that sounded like. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to trouble you. Don’t feel any pressure from me, okay? We’ll catch up soon.”

“That sounds great, Babs,” Dick’s big, dumb, talking-to-Barbara-Gordon-smile was back on his face. “Whenever I make the rounds, you’ll be my first stop, okay?”

The former boy wonder vaguely heard her say something in response, but was distracted by the flashing of a light a few blocks away. “Hold that thought, Babs, I think I just found some action. Love ya!”

As he had done so many times before, Nightwing swung toward the danger with a smirk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

“Henry, you were supposed to clock out an hour ago.” Jan Granger’s voice had hints of sternness, but nothing could hide the permanent warmth in her timbre. Hank loved hearing her speak. It was like all of her words somehow sparkled. 

“I know, Miss Gra-”

“Hank.”

“Sorry, I know, Jan.” Hank laughed, still not all the way used to calling his boss by her first name. “I just want to finish making this sign.”

“I don’t want you out on the streets so late, Henry. Haven’t you heard about kids around your age going missing recently?” Still sparkly, but her voice emanated concern. 

Henry’s mind flashed to the flyers of children’s faces posted on street lamps and telephone poles around the city. Tanner’s face fading into view caused Hank to frown and push the thought away.

Somewhere across the room, Lionel Richie’s voice crooned out from the record player. Hank took a moment to look at his canvas, the chalkboard that would sit outside the coffee shop. 

He had done his best to make it look like a sunset, with soft pastel orange, pink, and purple layers. He felt a small smile of pride creep onto his face, and finished the last of the teal lettering on the sign. 

“Leave your frown at the door.” Henry heard Jan’s twinkling voice behind him. “That’s very nice, Henry.”

“Very nice because they’re your words.” Hank turned around to see Jan’s bright green eyes and warm, soft smile. “You said that to me my second shift here. I was having a crummy day, and somehow you knew right when I walked in.” 

Jan’s eyes shone brightly. “Well, I’m touched you remember.” 

“I try my best to remember everything you say, Jan.” Henry looked down at his feet, holding back a wave of emotion that washed over him. “You’ve done so much for me, and so much for everyone around here.”

Union, Jan’s coffee shop and grocery store, had not only provided Hank with a stable way to pay his rent over the past year, but also served as a place for the local community of Port’s Park, one of the lower-income districts of Bludhaven, to escape the more dangerous streets.

The coffee and groceries were fairly priced, and local youth were always welcome in Union. If they were spending time in the shop, they weren’t endangering themselves on the streets or joining gangs. And Jan herself, Hank was convinced, was actually some sort of angel. 

He had never met someone so kind and selfless. She had the patience to deal with Hank, and her sense of duty to the people around her was inspiring. Jan offered warmth, kindness, and any help she could manage to every person she met.

_ “If you spend time with someone, anyone, and you don’t spend that time making their day better, then you’ve wasted that time.” _

“Oh, Henry.” Hank blinked, he didn’t realize it, but he was embraced by Jan in a tight hug. “You’ve done just as much for me as I’ve done for you. You always help more than you should here, and without you helping me to spread the word about Union, I would have lost this place.”

“Wait, you mean we’ve got enough?!”

“That’s right. I counted the last of it today.” 

Money was often tight for Jan, because she always wanted to give so much and never take. Union had become more popular over the past few months, and Hank had helped Jan with marketing and a social media presence. 

“You can renew the lease for next year?” Hank was now embracing Jan, picking her up and spinning around. “That’s so amazing, Jan!”

“You were a big part of making it happen, Hank. I’m taking the money to the bank tonight.” Jan brought an envelope out from the pocket of her dark green apron. 

“No, Jan, let me do it. You close up shop here. It’s dangerous out there at this time of night.”

“I’ll have you know, Mister Duncan, that I’ve been taking care of myself just fine at night all my life here. As in longer than you’ve lived here. I know a thing or two about these streets.”

Hank chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, well how about I go with you? I’ll even clock out before I do it, so you won’t have to pay me.”

“Oh! That reminds me!” Jan’s eyes sparkled for a moment and she dashed behind a counter before returning with a brown leather jacket. “I wish I could pay you more, Hank, I really do. You can think of this as a bonus for helping me keep this place open.”

Henry looked at the jackets and his eyes felt wet for a moment. “It’s beautiful, Jan, but I can’t--”

“You can and you will.” Jan’s voice still twinkled, even when it was stern. “It was… It was Jason’s jacket, and I know if he knew you, he would want you to have it.”

Hank looked in the eyes of his surrogate mother. It was sometimes strange to think of Jan that way, because she was only 32 years old, but she was the closest thing he had. 

Her late husband Jason, had opened the Union with her before Hank arrived in Bludhaven, before he was killed in a mugging gone wrong. Hank could not believe Jan would give him the jacket of someone she loved as much as Jason. 

He put the jacket on over his navy blue t-shirt and glanced at himself in the mirror behind the counter. It was a bit roomy, not quite a perfect fit, but it was close.

“You look a lot like him, you know.” Jan’s eyes looked a bit wet, too.

“Thank you so much, Jan.” Hank wiped his eyes. “Okay, let’s go get that envelope to the bank.”

They walked out the door, and Hank turned around to lock it, but as he fished the keys out of his pocket, two dark figures raced past him and Jan, bumping into both of them and knocking them down. 

“Are you o--” Hank started to get up, but then another pair of men rushed between them, one man pushing Hank back into the door. 

“Move it!”

Hank grunted as his back hit the doorknob, and his eyes widened as he saw the other man snatch the envelope from Jan’s hand. The men started to turn the corner into the alley on the side of the Union.

Hank’s body moved automatically. His brain had a thousand thoughts and memories at once. He threw open the door and sprinted into the store. Hank had stopped running track before high school, but he knew exactly where the thieves were going, and that he was fast enough to catch these guys. 

He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d do when he met up with them, but Jan needed that money to keep the store open. 

_ And if no one stops these guys… _

More memories flooded Hank’s mind.

_ Not again. _

Hank’s eyes narrowed with determination. He heard Jan’s twinkling voice calling him to stop, but he was already hurdling over the counter and at the back door. He kicked it open and dashed into the alley.

* * *

Nightwing had seen this game played before. A one-two-punch kind of robbery. One person, or in this case, two, go in first to distract the target, then the second wave comes to do the actual theft. 

The men dashed into the alley, two by two. They looked to be running as fast as they could. 

_ Not fast enough. _

Dick sprinted across the roof of the Union coffee shop and leapt, flipping and twisting through the air before landing right in the middle of the four men. 

“Fellas! You guys running late for the subway?”

Dark clothes, black stocking or baseball caps. Classic thug wear. Nightwing was surrounded on all sides. Meaning each of these clowns were within his reach.

Before he sprung into action, a door behind Nightwing was flung open, and in his peripheral he saw the blonde young man from in front of the store jump over the two stairs of the back porch and into the alley. 

“That’s not yours!” the kid yelled. He must have been in high school.

_ Hmm. He’s enthusiastic. Not a super clever line, though. _

Nightwing knew he had to make this quick, to make sure the kid didn’t get hurt. “Watch out, kid!” He whirled around and kicked his foot out behind him, knocking the thug off balance and toward the kid. 

While he spun, Nightwing whipped out his escrima sticks and slammed one into the thug on his right’s stomach, using his other hand to jab the stick into the side of his neck, knocking him out. 

He anticipated the punch from behind him, dropping to the floor and sweeping his leg out behind him, knocking over thug number three. While the third thug fell, Nightwing popped back up and brought his elbow into the nose of thug number four, sending him crumpling to the ground.

After delivering the elbow, Nightwing engaged his tricep, snapping his forearm forward and releasing his hand, sending the escrima stick hurtling through the air. The stick ricocheted off the alley wall and clocked the grounded thug in the forehead.

_ CRACK. _

Nightwing reached out and caught the stick, spinning toward the thug he had kicked toward the kid, only to see a blonde head duck underneath a telegraphed punch. The kid was quick--his fist into the last thug’s stomach, causing him to double over. As the thug bent down, the kid grabbed his head with both hands and drove his knee into the thug’s face.

_ Huh. More than just enthusiastic. _

“Not bad, kid.” Nightwing grinned as he walked toward the young man. “That was very brave of you.”

The blonde head had dipped down again, the young man kneeling, then rising with the envelope clutched tightly in his hand. Nightwing was met with determined deep green eyes, but he knew partial shock when he saw it.

“It’s over, man. Who taught you to fight?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

“Who taught you to fight?”

Hank blinked, and remembered how to breathe. 

“Uh, I--You’re Nightwing.” 

_ Great. Looking very cool in front of the superhero, Duncan. _

“Like, the real one, I mean.” Hank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. With all of the excitement of the chase, the alley confrontation, and seeing Nightwing drop in from out of nowhere, it had taken a shot to the mouth from the thug before Hank was able to really get his head in the game.

Nightwing’s head tilted back in a laugh. “That’s right, I guess I am. You got some important stuff in that envelope?”

Hank looked down at his hand, then back up at Nightwing. “I do. It’s--for a friend.”

“Henry! Are you okay?” Jan’s twinkling voice came from the entrance of the alley.

“He’s just fine, ma’am.” Nightwing’s voice was so confident, so reassuring. Jan’s eyes widened as she got close enough to get a look at the pair of young men. 

“Oh, oh my god!” Jan rushed toward Hank and put her hand on his cheek. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten hurt!” 

Hank ran his tongue over the cut on his lip, and gave a sheepish smile. “Well, you know, they--They were going to take the money.” He held out the envelope and rubbed the back of his head.

Jan’s eyes narrowed and she snatched the envelope before spinning around to face Nightwing. “You see his lip? You let him get hit in the face? What is wrong with you?” She demanded.

Nightwing put both his hands up in surrender. “I’m very sorry, miss. I--” Suddenly Jan sprang forward and embraced him tightly. Nightwing’s mouth opened in surprise.

“Thank you for helping. Oh god, if you weren’t here--If something happened to him…” Jan shook her head and let go of Nightwing, exhaling in a small cough as she stepped away. 

“Uh, yeah, well… Do you two need anything else?” Nightwing glanced over to Hank.

“Actually, we were going to take this envelope to the bank. It’s really important.” Hank tried to communicate a silent message to the superhero with his eyes. 

_ And she’s a little shaken up.  _ _ (And actually, so am I.) _

“How about I come along then?” Nightwing grinned. “Private security.”

* * *

Dick Grayson shook the hand of the young man, Hank, as Jan finished up at the ATM. 

“Well it was nice to meet you, Hank.” Nightwing smirked. “And of course you as well, Jan.”

“It was wonderful to meet you, too, Nightwing.” Jan had a very pleasant voice. It made Dick think about a talking moon from a TV show he saw when he was young. “How can I thank you for this? Would you like coffee?”

“No, really that’s okay. Maybe I’ll take you up on it some other night. Do either of you need help getting home?” 

Jan laughed. “Oh, please, I’ve been walking these streets longer than you’ve been running on the rooftops, Mister Wing.” She gave Nightwing a wink and turned to Hank. “Henry, you get home safe, and you  _ better _ ice that lip.”

Hank laughed and wrapped an arm around Jan in a hug. “Okay I will--geez,  _ Mom _ .” 

Jan strode confidently away, and Hank turned toward Nightwing. 

“Seriously man, thank you. She’s… She’s the best person I know, and that shop means everything to her.” 

Dick smiled softly and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Kid, did you not hear her in the alley? She didn’t care about the money for the store, she cared about  _ you. _ ” Hank’s eyes dropped to the ground.

“Well, thank you again, uh, Nightwing.” He let loose a quick laugh. “Sorry, it’s just--It’s one thing to say the name when you’re talking, like,  _ about _ you. Saying ‘Nightwing’ directly to you just seems kind of silly.”

Nightwing laughed and released Hank’s shoulder. “You’re right kid, it’s kind of silly. Now you’d better get on home, it’s a school night, right?”

Hank chuckled again and nodded. He turned away and began walking, then turned around. His green eyes were curious.

“Sorry, not to bother you, but--Why do you do this?” 

“This being, dress up in a ridiculous costume, call myself a silly name, and fight muggers in alleys?” Nightwing smirked. 

“Well, yeah.” Hank gave a sheepish smile.

“I’m just a guy trying to help, Hank.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Now. Four months later.**

“Yo! Duncan! Where were you last night?” 

Hank turned toward the accusing voice, only to be met with bright blue eyes and long blonde hair. 

“Last night?” Hank raised an eyebrow. “What was--”

“We were going to get frozen yogurt, at that new place. You said you wanted to eat a dessert that was ‘just okay’.” Liz Carter folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at Hank. “I texted you four times, I even called you once. I don’t just press the ‘call’ button for anyone, Duncan.”

“Right, oh man, I’m sorry Liz, last night I was--”

_“I don’t need to hurt ya, lady, just give me the damn purse.”_

_“Hey man. Whatcha doin?”_

“I was uh--I got held up at work.” Hank rubbed the back of his neck.

“I thought you had the day off on Thursdays?” Liz was not satisfied. “And what the hell happened to your eye?” 

_“Who the hell are y--”_

_Hank quickly stepped out of the shadows toward the thug._

_“I’m just a guy. Let the purse go.” Hank stepped forward again, this time faster, exhaling as he threw a punch toward the man’s stomach. His punch was knocked off course by the thug’s arm, Hank’s eyes widened and his head snapped up just in time to get clocked in the side of the head, just to the side of his right eye. _

Hank rubbed his face and grinned sheepishly. “Jan called me in, said it was an emergency... and I, uh, stepped on a broom and the handle snapped up and hit me in the eye.” Hank half-coughed, half-laughed. “It was right out of a cartoon.”

Liz’s bright blue eyes were darker than normal. Her brow was furrowed, her jaw set. “I’m not an idiot, Hank. Who hit you? Are you okay?”

_Hank stumbled backward, clutching at his eye. The whole world was vibrating. _

_“Ow,” he muttered. The thug charged toward him, and Hank dove out of the way, knocking over a trash can. He glanced up and saw the larger man coming at him once more. The man threw a left hook, and Hank’s hands searched for anything near him in the pile of trash. _

_His hand gripped around a plastic handle, and he whipped it toward the thug’s oncoming fist._

_CLANG._

_“Shit! Shit!” The thug gripped his hand, throbbing from colliding with the rusty saucepan Hank had held in front of his face. Hank glanced quickly at the saucepan, then at the man. He slammed the pan on top of the man’s head, then swept the man’s legs out from under him._

_Another ‘CLANG’ rang out as the man’s pan-covered-head hit the ground. Hank climbed over the unconscious body._

_“Well, you think you can” he paused to catch his breath, and looked for the woman who had been in the alley previously, “call… the police?” She was nowhere to be found. “Alright.”_

“Look, it’s not that bad. It was just some guy I was sparring with at Grayson’s Gym.” Hank looked down. Without realizing it, he held Liz’s hand in his own.

“Okay.” Liz bit her lip. “You know you can tell me anything, right Duncan?”

“I know, Carter.” Hank shot her a grin. “Are we holding hands?” 

_‘You want another black eye, there Hank?’_

“Maybe we are.” Liz smiled back and winked one bright blue eye before turning around. Hank blinked twice--the response he expected from her was very different than what she actually said. “By the way, cool cap and gown, dork.”

Hank looked down at the dark blue graduation attire he wore. He glanced to the cap and gown Liz had folded in her right hand, and then to the pale blue sundress she wore as she walked away.

“Are we not supposed to be wearing this already?” 

* * *

Baby blue eyes fluttered open. Dick woke up and stretched, then cocked his head. 

_What’s that noise?_

He stepped out of bed and threw on some gym shorts and a tank top, walking toward the thumping sound he heard coming from the stairwell of his loft. He hopped the railing, skipping the stairs and landing right in front of the door to his gym. 

As the door creaked open, he squinted, the gym’s bright fluorescent lights were already turned on, and a Brockhampton song played over the speakers. He gazed across the gym floor and saw a sandy-haired head bobbing up and down as Hank Duncan wailed away at a punching bag. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Dick greeted the young man with a wry smile as he rubbed one eye. Hank quickly stopped punching, using one taped hand to grasp at the remote on the floor next to him, muting the speakers. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, Dick, did I wake you up?” Hank’s face wore its own half-grin.

Dick was planning on at least feigning annoyance with the young man, but there was always something so sincere, so genuine in Henry Duncan’s green eyes, it made it hard to even pretend to be mad at the kid.

“No, I’m always awake at 5:30 on a Tuesday morning.” Dick laughed. 

“Ah, man, I’m sorry, I just--Wait, what’s that on your neck?” 

_“You know--even though Ric Grayson wasn’t you, he was still really hot.” _

_“Oh, yeah?”_

Dick’s hand instinctively covered the small bruise on the right side of his throat. “Ah, it’s nothing.” Dick cleared his throat. “I just bruise easy, I guess.” 

_“It’s the short hair, right? And the scar? I know Barbara Gordon digs sc--hey!”_

_No verbal response, but Dick felt a light pinch on the right of his throat._

Hank raised an eyebrow. “Yeah man, whatever. I know what happens when a man and woman love each other very much.”

“Don’t you have school this morning?” Dick gave a light shove to the sandy-haired young man in front of him. 

“Graduation was Friday night, Dick. I’m done with school, officially.” 

“Hank! Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come.” 

Dick remembered his graduation from Gotham Heights High School. He looked into the crowd and saw Barbara and Alfred, but not Bruce. He was busy beating up some mobster.

“Nah, man, you’re a busy guy. Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t a big deal.” Hank grabbed a water bottle and took a long swig.

“Did Jan cry?” 

“A lot.” Hank laughed. “Scott almost did, too, I could tell. They’re together now, by the way. They haven’t told me, yet, but I know.” 

“Well I’m sure they both told you, but I want to say it too: I’m proud of you.” Dick smiled at his recently made friend.

After helping Hank and Jan that night several months ago as Nightwing, Dick couldn’t help but remain interested in their lives. 

He ‘happened’ to wander into the Union coffee shop and ‘just threw out’ an idea to Jan to partner together to help the local community, giving youths something to do other than get into trouble on the streets. They could come burn off steam at Grayson’s Gym, or chill out and study at the Union. 

“Thank you, Dick, really.” Hank smiled, then looked at the floor. “Listen, I’d better go--You get back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Hank. If you’ve gotta go, go, but if you want to stay, you’re always welcome.” Dick winked at the sandy-haired youth, then whispered, “That’s why I gave you a key to the gym.”

“I know I’m welcome. I just gotta get to the Union. I’m covering for Jan so she and Scott can spend the day together--but of course, I don’t know anything about that.” 

* * *

“So you and Liz are, like, a thing, right?”

Hank looked up from the mug he was washing, and met Will’s dark brown eyes. “I don’t know what that means, Will.” 

Will sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hank, what did you do on Friday night?”

“What? You mean, graduation?” 

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.” Will took a sip of coffee, peering over his mug at his friend. “And at graduation, what did you do, while everyone else was sitting and watching?”

“I, uh, gave a speech?” Hank switched towels and began drying the mug. 

“A salutatorian speech, Hank. Meaning your GPA was _second _in our class of 542 students.” 

“You flatter, me, Mister Bennett.” 

“_Meaning_ you’re not stupid. In fact, you’re smart. Smart enough to know what _a thing_ means. And smart enough to know that you and Elizabeth Carter are one.” Will took another sip of his coffee, then clunked the mug back onto the counter.

“Okay, look, yes, we’re maybe some sort of a _thing._” Hank placed the dry mug on the rack behind him and then grabbed Will’s empty one. “But really, I don’t know exactly what kind of thing we are. And she’s about to go off to college, and I’m, I don’t know--”

Hank trailed off as an interesting scene caught his eye across the room. The sign outside clearly said to leave all frowns at the door, but the two young men behind the avocado stand in the corner of the store were clearly not smiling.

“Hank?” Will called out, as Hank idly walked out from behind the counter toward the suspicious pair. 

_They’re fine. They’re not up to anything. Just go check and see if they need anything._

As Hank approached, he could sort of read the lips of the man on the right in the blood red shirt. 

_“Tonight in Avalon Hill… Paying extra...” _

Hank wasn’t as good at lip reading as he would have liked. The next words were either something about ‘extra help’ or ‘Ander Heights’. Hank suddenly realized he was too close to not appear to be eavesdropping.

“Hey guys, anything I can help you with?” Hank said loudly, putting on his best ‘clueless employee’ voice.

“Nah, man, we’re good,” the gentleman on the left in yellow said quickly. No edge in his voice, but a very fast answer.

“Ah, well those avocados aren’t quite in season yet, but I’m sure you can find a few good ones in there!” Hank motioned to the stand and turned away. “If you need me, I’m at the counter!”

“Hank, you okay?” Will asked his friend as Hank slowly walked back behind the counter. “Did they tip?”

Hank laughed dryly. “It’s all good, William.” 

“Okay great, then back to you and Liz. Or--oops, I actually have to go. Wanna hang tonight after work and you can tell me about the _thing_ then?” Will’s mischievous grin was returned quickly by Hank.

“I’d love to, but I’m actually getting dinner with Liz after work.”


	7. Chapter 7

Nightwing swung across the plaza of Haven Square. His sources mentioned some sort of deal going down tonight in Avalon Hill, one of the more wealthy districts of Bludhaven. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flashing blue light on the rooftop across the street—the roof of the Bludhaven Police Department. He smiled and took off toward toward the lights.

“You needed me, commissioner?”

“God! You can’t sneak up on me like that, kid.” Colleen’s steely gray eyes softened as she relaxed. “For me, there is no fight or flight, it’s only fight. I don’t want to accidentally shoot you.”

“That would be bad,” Nightwing agreed with a grin, stepping out of the shadows. He liked Colleen a lot. She worked hard, she was honest, and she was fearless. Great qualities for a police commissioner. “What can I do for you?”

“We have intel on some sort of drug deal happening tonight. None of the BPD’s sources knows everything about it, but lots of them knew one or two things. Supposedly, it’s a big deal. The Whalers, a local gang, is being paid a lot of money to offer protection for the deal. One source even said they were recruiting new members specifically to get more bodies for tonight.”

“Any idea where this is happening?” Nightwing had turned to scan other rooftops in the cities. He watched the traffic, hoping to find some sort of suspicious movement from a car he could tail. 

“Multiple sources say Avalon Hill, and in such a wealthy district, there are only so many places where a deal could go down.” Colleen handed Nightwing a map with three red marks on it, different possible locations for the deal. “I already have three more reports of missing children since last week.” The commissioner shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Nightwing, if this is some new drug craze, it could ruin the lives of hundreds of kids. And who knows how many others could be affected by the users who are desperate for a fix.”

Dick focused intently on the map, examining the locations marked by Colleen. “It can’t be here—near the docks. That’s Whalers’ territory, and they wouldn’t want this to be traced back to them.” He scanned over the next two red dots. “Why would they do it here, right behind Hogan’s Alley?”

“We’re not sure. It doesn’t make sense to place a deal so close to a known cop bar.” Colleen shook her head. “One of my personal sources said that it could be there—I’m afraid that some crooked cops could be involved.” 

Nightwing glanced at the Commissioner while he thought for a moment. “I’m not sure about cops being involved, but as for this deal: My gut says no. It’s a cop bar, and the city just replaced all of the street lights and security cameras on that block. The Whalers ain’t smart, but they’re not  _ that  _ stupid. Too many eyes.”

“So it’s gotta be there,” the Commissioner snatched the map from Dick and jabbed the third mark on the map with her finger, “behind the St. Michael’s Foster Home. Of course—that lot is private property; we can’t send officers in there without a warrant.”

“Fortunately, I never use a warrant.” 

Colleen looked up toward Nightwing’s voice, but only found an empty rooftop. 

* * *

“What is this play called again?” 

“Kiss Me Kate. It’s not a play, Hank, it’s a Musical.” Hank glanced up from his menu and saw Liz’s narrowed eyes and smirking mouth. “And don’t pretend you didn’t know that. I’ve heard it twice before when your phone was set to ‘shuffle all’.”

Hank finished a sip of water and grinned at his friend (or, whatever she was). “Not sure what you mean. I don’t know anything about this theatre stuff.” A boldfaced lie. 

Jan Granger loved musical theatre. Hank figured she must have been very good at it once upon a time, with her sparkly voice. She had played countless soundtracks for him when they were closing up shop. Hank liked them just fine, but knew Jan loved them, and he liked hearing her sing along. 

“Whatever, Duncan. Do you know what you want to eat yet?” Liz took the last bite from the roll that the waiter had placed on her plate a few minutes ago. She was the most gorgeous girl Hank had ever seen, and she never even tried to look good. 

They were surrounded by grownups with money for fancy dresses and suits, but Liz outclassed every woman in the room wearing a white top and jeans. Hank sported a similar outfit in his navy blue t-shirt and jeans of his own, but he had a feeling he didn’t pull it off quite like Liz did.

_ Oh well, that’s okay. _ Hank smiled to himself.

“Hello, Henry Duncan report to the principal’s office.” Oops. Staring off into space with a goofy smile was probably not great date etiquette. Was this a date?

“My bad, Liz, I was spacing out. You know, you look really great tonight.” Hank quickly tried to take a sip of his water, and managed to choke it down with a small cough. “Not that you don’t always look great.”

Liz laughed and offered a sweet smile. “Well thank you, Henry. You don’t look too bad yourself. Careful with that water, though. We don’t want you drowning.”

“That would be bad,” Hank agreed with a laugh. “Do you even know what these words on the menu mean? Where’s the dollar menu?”

“Just order whatever sounds good. Like the show, dinner’s on me.”

“Mhmm. Because of your  _ connections _ .” Hank raised an eyebrow at Liz. He had been to her house many times. Her parents had plenty of money, definitely enough to get tickets to the dinner theatre, but Liz adamantly never asked them for money. “You’re being awfully mysterious about those, by the way...”

A flash of movement outside the window on Hank’s right caught his attention. Liz followed his eyes. 

“What’s up Hank?” 

“Did you see that?” Hank saw two men dressed in dark clothes sprinting on the sidewalk across the street. “There, those guys in front of the foster home!” 

“They’re running pretty fast; why are th—”

_ POP. POP.  _

Hank’s eyes went wide as he heard the gunshots. The window exploded, and shattered glass went everywhere. Without his mind registering his actions, Hank knocked the table over and tackled Liz behind it. 

“DOWN!” 

* * *

_ POP. POP. _

_ Shit. _

Nightwing sprinted across the rooftop of St. Michael’s Foster Home. 

_ Idiot.  _

He had been sloppy, jumping into the lot with a half baked plan and no backup plan. The Whalers and whomever they were protecting had scattered as soon as he started saying the stupid line he thought up on the way down. 

He winced as he leapt from the roof onto the street, his shoulder throbbing from the bullet that had grazed it. 

_ POP. POP. _

Dick heard the shattering of glass as he dove to the ground and rolled—taking any more hits from these amateurs would be embarrassing. As he came up from the roll, he scanned the situation, the Heads-Up-Display in his visor highlighting the thugs he saw running sprinting away from him. Five men, three guns. 

Nightwing flung an escrima stick forward, hearing a satisfying  _ thunk _ as the stick connected with the head of the middle thug, then erupted in a burst of crackling electricity. The highlighted guns on his HUD faded to black, disabled by the short-range electromagnetic pulse. 

In a split second, the tide had turned in favor of the former boy wonder. Dick sprinted toward the remaining conscious men, who stared at him with wide eyes. As Nightwing got closer, he heard tires squeal to his left, and glanced over just in time to see a flash of black.

“Oomff.” Dick was thrown backward by the impact of the large black van, the wind knocked out of him. Four men got out of the van, while one of the thugs Dick had been chasing hopped in before barking orders.

“Go! Go!” 

Dick’s vision was blurred and his whole body ached. Dark figures  _ seemed _ to move in closer toward him, but he wasn’t entirely sure due to the ringing in his head. 

“Liz, stay right here behind this table, okay?” Hank glanced down at his friend, whom he had pinned to the ground behind the table he’d knocked over. 

“Not okay at all! We’ve got to get these people out of here!” Liz sat up, her bright blue eyes flashing wildly with adrenaline. Hank couldn’t think fast enough—or was he thinking too fast? A thousand thoughts flew in and out of his mind. 

_ Got to get out there, and keep Liz out of harm’s way. Glass everywhere. Need to find something to hide my face.  _

“I have to get help—it’s not safe to move—I just don’t want you to”

_ She smells like cherries. What? Need my jacket. Wow, her face is really close to mine.  _

“Liz—please just—” Hank was cut off, his eyes widened. He felt two hands tightly holding his face, and lips pressing against his. Liz pulled away from the kiss, her eyes still flashing.

“Henry.” Her voice was confident. “Help me get these people out of here.”

Hank’s mind had slowed down—like Liz’s confidence was spreading to him. “Okay. Let’s go. Out the back.”

Hank grabbed his brown leather jacket and ushered Liz to crawl toward the back door of the dinner theatre. He listened for more gunshots, but couldn’t hear any. He quickly stood up, helping Liz to her feet.

“Everyone move to the back door!” Hank motioned toward the door, and walked briskly, pulling Liz along by her hand. They watched as the crowd filtered out through the door, and Hank glanced behind him at the scene outside the theatre. 

He heard tires squealing and an engine revving. A large black van plowed into someone.

_ Oh, no. _

Hank whirled back around, noticing a display of Sock and Buskin, the masks of comedy and tragedy on the wall. Liz had started through the door and turned around. “Hank, come on!” 

With one hand, Hank grabbed the white mask of comedy off the wall. His other hand gently but firmly grasped Liz’s chin pulling her in for a kiss. 

“Mmff!”

As his lips met hers, Hank took a small step forward, pushing her outside the door. He stepped backward quickly and gave a wry smile as he shut and locked the door, ensuring that she was kept safely away from the danger. 

Hank zipped up his jacket and put the plastic white mask on before sprinting out toward the street. He hopped through the broken window, taking in the scene as he emerged into the streetlights. He caught a glimpse of a figure stepping into the black van.

“Go! Go!” 

The van sped away, revealing eight men slowly encircling a figure on the ground. None of them realized Hank was racing toward them. Eight dudes was a lot, but he had to do something to help whomever they were surrounding.

Luckily, he had the element of surprise. He positioned himself between two of the thugs, driving his palm into the throat of one and seeing him crumble before spinning around, putting extra force into the elbow he jabbed into another thug’s kidney. 

_ Two down. _

Surprise was fading, as the thugs took notice of Hank. He heard a “Hey!” and a “Get him!” as he spun back around once again. 

_ Shit. _

“Whoop!” He exclaimed as he ducked low to the ground and swept another thug’s legs out from under him. Hank pushed off the ground as hard as he could with his hands and legs, propelling himself into the air and continuing his twist as his extended leg’s heel found the jaw of a fourth thug. 

_ CRACK! _

Hank winced at the sound, worrying that he may have just broken another human’s jaw. He didn’t have time to worry long, as the thugs that remained standing closed the distance. Hank started to move, but then the world blurred.

_ Whoa. _

All his twisting and spinning had caught up to him, and he couldn’t move fast enough to avoid a fist connecting with his own jaw. 

_ CRACK. _

Luckily, Hank was still able to roll with the punch to protect his teeth, but the bottom half of his borrowed white comedy mask shattered, leaving only the top of his face covered. As he reeled away from the punch, he felt something wrap around his ankle. 

Hank heard a small  _ snap  _ and his ankle throbbed as he was pulled to the ground by the thug he had tripped earlier. 

_   
_ _ THUNK. _

Hank’s head connected with the asphalt and the world went dark.

* * *

Nightwing was still having trouble registering the blurred movements he witnessed above him. 

A flash of brown, blonde, and blue.  _ Thud. _ Someone hit the ground. The figure whirled around quickly, ducking and springing into the air.  _ Crack.  _ Another thug crumpled to the street.

Another  _ crack. _

Dick’s whole body still throbbed and fought him, but Nightwing’s vision had finally cleared. He pushed himself to his feet, his muscles screaming profanities at him, just as he saw the blonde young man stumble and fall to the asphalt. 

_ No! _

The kid was down. Four thugs were standing, one was on the ground, getting up. Nightwing sprung into action, quickly kicking the downed thug in the head, careful not to use too much force and seriously injure him. 

_ Just the four standing, now. _

Dick weaved backward away from an incoming punch, then stepped forward, his escrima stick cracking against a thug’s forehead. 

_ Three. _

Two thugs charged at him, and Nightwing couldn’t help but smirk as he leapt high in the air, using his free hand to push off the shoulder of the thug in front of him.

He heard the loud  _ crack _ of the two thugs running head first into each other.  _ Two, one. _

Nightwing whirled around to face the final thug, only to find him a hundred feet away down the street. A sigh left his mouth as he shook his head, beginning to run after the man, but then he heard a quiet moan behind him. 

_ The kid! _ __   
  


Spinning on his heels, Nightwing glanced at the masked young man. “Aw, come on.” He muttered as he slung the blonde teen over his shoulder. 


	8. Chapter 8

Hank’s eyes fluttered open. He thought about getting up, but his bed was too comfortable, so he rolled over to get back to sleep.

_ Wait. _

His bed was not comfortable. It was the cheapest mattress he could find. This was not his bed. 

_ What the hell? _ Hank sat up and began to look around the room. The stainless steel walls and smooth gray concrete floor were lit by a few computer screens and dim fluorescent lights. The walls were covered in strange devices and—were those weapons?

“I’m not happy with you, Henry.” Hank whipped his head toward the voice and saw a familiar young man staring at him. Dark hair, a blue mask, and a dark bodysuit. The blue accents on Nightwing’s chest were hidden by his folded arms. 

“What—Nightwing?” Hank started to get up, but his ankle buckled under him, and he woozily stumbled forward. “Whoa.” 

“Chill out there, slugger.” Nightwing said as he caught the young man. “You’ve got a concussion and a tweaked ankle. Probably because you were trying to fight eight guys at once like an idiot.”

Memories began fading into focus in Hank’s mind. “I… Oh my god, it was you on the ground? What happened?”

“Nothing good. A drug deal of some kind was going down tonight, which admittedly, I screwed up pretty bad.” Nightwing helped Hank to sit back down on the cot. 

“Guess you’re lucky I was there,” Hank smiled sheepishly at Nightwing, who’s face remained grim.  _ Why are you like this, Duncan? Why do you poke the bear?  _ Hank’s mind scrambled to change the subject. “Wait, you remember my name?”

“I remember you, Hank. I met you and Jan Granger about four months ago.” Nightwing turned and knelt down, opening a mini-fridge. “I remember you being smarter than this, though, Hank.” 

Nightwing’s expression had softened a bit when he turned back around and offered Hank a bag of frozen peas. Hank gingerly put the bag on his ankle. 

“I’m just a guy trying to help.” Hank did his best to hold eye contact with the white lenses in Nightwing’s mask. “Remember that?”

“I do. And I know you’re trying to help. In fact, while you were out, I did a little look-see into how much you’ve been ‘helping’ lately.” Nightwing poked something on his wrist gauntlet, and the screens behind him flared to life. CCTV footage, multiple instances of Hank attempting to stop various robberies, muggings, and assaults. 

The screens caused several memories of close calls to flood Hank’s mind. He never ended up with anything worse than a fat lip or black eye—well, there was one incident with a bruised rib.

“Look at you, getting your ass kicked. There, there, ooh, ouch, that there must be a bruised rib. Maybe broken.” Nightwing’s finger flitted the screens, pointing at Hank’s crime-fighting debacles. 

“Actually, I won all of those fights, and I stopped those guys from hurting someone else.” Hank snapped.

“You made them hurt  _ you  _ instead, Hank!” Nightwing’s voice was hard and rough, not even close to the warm timbre Hank remembered from their last meeting. “And what if one of these clowns actually knew how to fight?”

“I can do hypotheticals, too. What if I wasn’t there tonight? What would have happened to you?” 

“Hank, you’re not Robin. I’m not Batman, and I’m not looking for a partner.” Nightwing paused for a moment, his brow furrowing. “I’ve already seen too many people get hurt trying to do my job. Two adults were killed, less than a year ago. Full grown adults with years of law enforcement experience,  _ killed  _ wearing my costume. I’m not going to teach you. I’m not going to train you or give you a mask.”

“I’m not asking you to train me!” Hank felt bile rising in his throat. He didn’t like feeling this angry, but he couldn’t stop his mouth. “I don’t want to be partners. You’re not the only one who has deaths weighing on them. And you can’t stop me from helping whenever you’re not there to.” 

Hank finished spitting out the words and took a deep breath. He had risen from the cot and was standing only a foot away from Nightwing.

“Look kid, I’m sorry you lost your brother. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help him.” Nightwing started.

Hank’s eyes widened. Then again, if Batman was the world’s greatest detective, it wasn’t surprising that Nightwing would know about Tanner. He wiped his eyes quickly and felt Nightwing’s hand on his shoulder.

“You need to think of how it felt losing him, and how people in your life would feel if they lost you.” 

Hank inhaled through his nose deeply. “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

“You need a ride home?”

“I can walk.”

“You mean, limp? Just let me take you home, Hank.” Nightwing’s familiar smirk was back on his face.

“Fine.”

* * *

“Here’s your coffee, Henry.” Scott handed Hank the thermos with a smile. “Need anything else? Some ice for that lip?” 

Hank chuckled and shook his head. “Thanks, Scott, really. Don’t worry about me, I’ve done this before.”

Hank took a swig of coffee.  _ Ow. Hot _ . He tried to forget about the taste buds he burned off as he walked across the living room and took a stand behind the podium. He looked out at the children perched on old sofas and barely-in-tact chairs. 

“Hey there, St. Michael’s foster kids. I’m Henry Duncan, but you can call me Hank,” he smiled, falling into the old routine. He let his mind wander as his mouth recited his spiel on autopilot. 

All through this past year, Hank and Scott had been working with the foster homes around Bludhaven, with the end goal of developing a Big Brothers and Big Sisters program. Hank would tell stories to the kids to try and inspire some hope, and to remind them that someone cared about them. 

It was tough growing up without parents, and even tougher in the adoption system. Hank had but one memory of his parents. He had just turned three, and his mother left him and his infant brother outside the front door of the Wayne Home For Children in Gotham City.

He and Tanner grew up with only each other and the few friends they made in the various homes they bounced between. Some families had made offers of permanent adoption, but they could only afford to take one of the brothers, and Hank and Tanner refused to be separated. 

When Tanner died, Hank’s whole world collapsed. He fought everyone who reached out to him, trying to shut out the evil world that had taken his innocent little brother.

_ “You don’t have to be alone, Hank. You can let people help you.”  _

Scott’s words rung in Hank’s ears nearly every day. Scott had somehow fought back against the little demon Hank had become, and given him hope again. 

When Scott adopted him and moved him to Bludhaven, Hank embraced the chance to start over. He didn’t want to be alone any longer. 

Hank blinked and realized he had finished his story to the children, which meant the real challenge was about to begin. 

* * *

“Thank you again, Mr. Duncan and Mr. Daniels, for coming.” 

The words came in a slow southern drawl, but properly pronounced. Old money. The man behind the desk smiled with his mouth, but his eyes didn’t look happy. Hank fought the instinct to raise an eyebrow. 

“We appreciate the invitation, Mr. Turner,” Scott began, “We really think that the foster care community of Bludhaven could benefit from a mentorship program, and we were so happy that you agreed to meet with us and discuss our implementation strategy.”

Sometimes Hank thought Scott’s smooth talking talents were wasted as a Social Worker. The guy could be the best defense attorney in Jersey. 

Hank glanced around the office of Michael Turner. Turner was one of the wealthiest men in Bludhaven, the founder of St. Michael’s Foster Home, and a board member of many of the New Jersey state adoption board.

“Of course! The children of Bludhaven need guidance. They need to be shown love.” Turner clasped his hands and crossed one leg over the other. “What I was hoping, is that you would allow me to handle the recruitment of volunteers. I already have a long list of candidates.”

“Really?” Hank asked, a bit too snappily.  _ Oops.  _ “Err, I mean, that’s great news. We’ll need all the help we can get.” Hank turned to Scott. “Is there a way we can run background checks on potential volunteers?”

Scott nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a great idea, Henry, especially with the recent reports of missing children in the system, we need to be as careful as possible.” 

Hank thought about a classmate of his who had gone missing recently. Sophia Stone was not very friendly, but Hank and she had been lab partners their junior year. They bonded over similar lives of slipping through the cracks in the foster care system, never being permanently adopted.

“Background checks can be expensive,” Turner mused, “However, I have a few connections in the intelligence industry due to some of my other business ventures—for the safety of the children, I’d be happy to fund any sort of investigations needed for potential volunteers.”

“Perfect.” Hank forced a smile. Why did this guy give off such Bond villain vibes? “What do you think, Scott?”

“I think we’ve got a deal.” Scott started to get out a manila folder, no doubt full of papers to sign and initial. “For the security of my agency, we’ll have to have you sign several waivers, Mr. Turner. I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

“But of course, Mr. Daniels! I am happy to sign wherever you need, although I may need you to sign a form or two for me, as well.” Turner opened a drawer and removed a manila folder of his own. You know how today’s world works, we all sign our souls away nearly every day—” Turner’s pocket buzzed. “Excuse me, this is a rather important call, I’ll have to take this.” 

Turner strode out of the office, speaking quietly over the phone. Hank couldn’t quite make out the words, but the tone seemed aggressive. Scott’s voice interrupted Hank’s thoughts.

“How was the show last night? And are you going to tell me what happened to your eye?” 

Hank grinned at his mentor. “I would be happy to, Scott. Maybe over a cup of coffee at the Union, later today? Oh, wait—I’m sorry, did you already go there today?” 

Scott’s eyes widened. “I don’t know what you mean, Hank.”

“Mhmm. Sure.” Hank smirked and sipped from his thermos. “For the record, Scott, I’m happy for you and Jan, but I don’t get why you two are being so weird about it with me.”

“Look, it’s sort of complicated, we can talk about it la—” A ringing came from Scott’s suit jacket. He hurriedly reached for his pocket, retrieving a phone that was silent, and the ringing continued.

“Other phone, Scott. Lower pocket.”

Scott narrowed his eyes at Hank and grabbed his personal phone, bringing it to his ear while he headed out of the room. “Hey, Jan.”

Hank laughed as the office door closed. He got up from his chair and wandered over to Turner’s desk. He wasn’t trying to pry, he just had this thing about reading the terms and conditions. Hank began to thumb through the folder—he wanted to make sure that Scott didn’t sign too much power over to Turner.

Hank wasn’t terribly familiar with contract law, but the papers in the folder definitely weren’t contracts. 

_ Spreadsheets? This must be the wrong manila folder. _

A lot of Hank’s status as Salutatorian of Bludhaven North High School—Go Bulldogs!—was due to his ability to speed-read. He had always been able to process and digest information at a faster rate than his peers. 

Hank’s eyes poured over the numbers he saw, there was a series of names, each accompanied by a date and a figure with a dollar sign. Deep green eyes narrowed when he came across last night’s date. June 27 was highlighted in pink, and a small annotation read “rescheduled for June 29”. The name beside the date read: “Stone, S.” _Sophia._

Hank quickly folded the sheet of paper up, placed it in his shirt pocket, and closed the manila folder. He rushed toward the door, thrusting it open and coming face to face with Michael Turner. 

“Mr. Duncan! Going somewhere?” 

“Yeah, I just got called in for a shift at the Union, so I gotta go! It was nice to meet you Mr. Turner!” Hank squeezed past Turner, doing his best to keep his breathing even. 

“Mr. Duncan.” Hank didn’t want to freeze, but his body stopped moving anyway. “Forgetting something?”

Hank turned around slowly, and gave a sheepish smile as he took his thermos from Turner’s outstretched hand. “Thanks so much, Mr. Turner!” 

Hank jogged toward the stairs, shaking his head in disbelief.

  
_ There’s no way that just happened. _


	9. Chapter 9

“It’s some kind of new drug,” Dick Grayson showered a barrage of punches, chops, and kicks on the training dummy in front of him. “Something big enough… To warrant extra protection from the Whalers.”

“Hmm.” Dick wasn’t looking, but he knew that across the cave, Bruce was typing away or reading, doing some sort of research on the Bat-Computer.

“The thing is, they chose a wealthy area for the handoff.” Dick continued to wail on the training dummy. “Behind an orphanage. St. Michael’s Foster Home.”

“Founded by Michael Turner, who is also the CEO of NeoTurn.” Batman mused. “They specialize in information systems for military and intelligence organizations.” 

“You think Turner has something to do with it?” Dick asked, punctuating his question with a kick that snapped the dummy in half. “Oops.”

“I think you should look into it.” Bruce suggested. Dick slowly began removing the tape from his hands and feet. “Do you know him?”

“Who, Turner? No.” 

“Not Turner,  _ him. _ ”

“What are you talking about?” Nightwing questioned as he walked toward the screen. His eyes widened as he saw video footage of the previous night—his own body slumped on the ground while a blonde kid in a brown leather jacket and jeans took out three thugs, each with twenty pounds on him. “Oh.”

The former boy wonder pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re keeping tabs on me even when I’m all the way in Bludhaven?” Bruce started to turn toward him, but Dick realized his mistake before his mentor could speak. “I mean, of course you are. You’re you.” 

“Dick.” The mix of gravelly Batman voice and rich Bruce Wayne voice Dick was so accustomed to hearing. “Are you doing okay?”

“Of course, I’m fine.”

“Would you like my opinion on something?”

“You’re going to give it regardless of what I say.” Dick rolled his eyes and smiled. The words were a bit harsh, but he said them in a light tone. Batman had been handling Robin’s attitude for a long time.

“You’re working too hard.” Bruce said solemnly. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends, trying to make up for the time you missed out on when your memory was missing.” 

“Bruce, please, I—” 

“I’m not finished, Dick.” Dick met his mentor’s eyes. “I know what it’s like. You had your life taken from you, and then you got it back, but it’s not the same. I experienced the same thing after the Joker’s ‘Endgame’ incident…

I get feeling lost. It’s easy to throw yourself into the mission to try to find yourself. But you’re going to get hurt. And I—” A strange sound came from Bruce’s throat, quickly morphing into a small cough. Nightwing raised his eyebrows in surprise at the show of emotion. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

Batman looked down at his hands. Nightwing put his hand on his father’s shoulder. “You won’t Bruce. I promise.”

Bruce cleared his throat, then returned his gaze to the screen. “He looks like he’s trained in Krav Maga. His form isn’t perfect, but it’s almost like it isn’t supposed to be. It’s very… Street. Perhaps self-taught.”

“I met him a few months ago. Four guys tried to mug a woman he was with—I took down three of them, and before I got to the fourth, he had dropped him.” Nightwing’s mind was taken back to the alley on the side of the Union coffee shop. Hank  _ had  _ handled himself pretty well that night. 

“I laid into him last night. Told him to stop before he gets hurt. I’m not sure how well he’ll listen, but I have to figure out this drug deal situation before I deal with him.” Nightwing waited for his mentor’s response, but it didn’t come. He glanced at Bruce, who was still watching Hank fight on the screen.

“Hmm.” If Bruce ever lost his fortune, he could make it back easily with a few hands of poker. No one could read the Batman.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, and I don’t think I want to know.” 

“I’m not thinking anything.” Bruce’s mouth quirked just a tiny bit—the movement was nearly imperceptible. “Just watching this young man save your ass.”

* * *

_ How long have I been here? Three hours? _

Hank took another sip of coffee and continued his research. The Bludhaven Public Library had public records dating back over a hundred years. Hank was pouring through every scrap of information he could find on local foster homes and missing persons, and cross referencing the dates and times with the activity of NeoTurn, Michael Turner’s information systems firm.

_ Buzz, buzz, buzz. _

Hank absentmindedly picked up the phone. “Hank Duncan.”

“Why do you answer the phone like you’re forty years old?” giggled the bubbly voice of Kenzie Reed. 

“Hey, Kenz,” Hank gave himself a moment to take a breath and chuckle. “How are you?” 

“I’m great, thank you! Where are you? You’ve got to come downtown with Will and me!” 

“Oh yeah? What’s going on downtown?” Hank took another sip of coffee. He hadn’t slept since yesterday when he found Turner’s insane spreadsheet. 

“It’s the summer street festival!”

“Oh, hmm. Well that does sound fun, but—” Hank was cut off.

“They are? Oh, that is weird.” Kenzie was speaking to someone else. “Will said he figured you’d be here already, because all the local foster homes have tables set up to spread awareness.”

“Hmm. I didn’t know anything about that. Very weird.” Hank muttered. His emerald eyes widened suddenly.  _ A street fair. The perfect place for a kid to get lost. Especially a kid without parents. _

Hank shoved all of his files in his backpack and dashed toward the exit. “Where are you guys, Kenz? I’m on my way!” 

* * *

“Gotcha.” Nightwing muttered, finally successfully picking the lock of Michael Turner’s office in the NeoTurn office complex. Dick glanced around the office, making mental notes to avoid this style of interior design. 

_ Everyone was given the day off for the street fair, so I’m good to take my time here. _

He strode to the computer, plugging in a thumb drive and watching the screen flicker to life. The drive would collect all the information on the hard drive in a matter of seconds, and then Dick could sift through the data easily with a few quick keyword searches.

_ It sure pays to know Barbara Gordon, computer genius extraordinaire.  _

The thumb drive flashed, indicating its work was done. Nightwing plucked it from the desktop and inserted it into his wrist gauntlet, beaming the data into his mask’s HUD. Searching through the terabyte of information was as simple as flitting his eyes from left to right.

_Offshore accounts, interesting. Not terribly surprising, though._ _Several deposits made over the last few months…_

Dick’s eyes narrowed as he searched. What was Turner up to? For a crook into drugs, there was no information on his hard drive about any sort of chemical makeup or formulae. 

_ Email correspondence to the state adoption board, all regarding several missing foster children… _

Dick shifted his tactic. He searched for any sort of construction plans or blueprints.

_ A series of tunnels… Additions for the subway system? No, all these tunnels exit at inconvenient street corners. It would be pointless. _

Nightwing thought for a moment, tapping his chin. He overlaid a map of Bludhaven’s businesses on top of the tunnel map. 

_ Every tunnel ends right underneath a foster home, and the tunnels converge here... Wait a minute. _

“Call Oracle.” Barbara would be better at finding a link between all this data, and now Dick had some tunnels to explore. 

“Hey Hunk Wonder, how can I help you?” Babs’ sweet voice put a dumb grin on Dick’s face once again.

“I just sent you a lot of information I, uh…  _ borrowed _ from Michael Turner. I think he’s planning on starting some sort of new drug craze, but I can’t put all the pieces together.” 

Dick rushed through the hallway and pried open the elevator doors to reveal an open elevator shaft. Nightwing grabbed hold of the elevator cable and began a long slide down, grateful for the carbon fiber gloves that protected his hands. 

“Hmm. Looks like there are a few extra encrypted files that your thumb drive couldn’t handle on it’s own… One sec.” Dick heard a flurry of keystrokes over his earpiece. “There’s some sort of spreadsheet with a bunch of dates and money figures… Oh, these must be names. Maybe last name, first initial.”

“Try doing a search for each of those names, maybe they’re buyers.” Nightwing suggested. He finally reached the bottom of the elevator shaft. Just as he suspected, a panel on the floor opened to reveal a larger room.

Dick dropped through the slot and activated his mask’s night vision. Across the room he could make out what seemed to be some sort of fence. 

“Oh my god, Dick.” Babs’s voice radiated shock. “All of these last names and first initials match up perfectly with all of the reported missing foster kids over the past few months.” 

“Is he using the kids to cook the drugs? Test them?” Dick was confounded. He continued making his way toward the fence—no, not a fence, a row of cages. “Oh, no, it’s not a drug craze at all—”

“That’s right, Mr. Nightwing.” Nightwing whirled around to face the voice behind him, but then his vision went completely white. “Not drugs, but something more valuable. Life.” 

Dick tried to follow the voice, but the bright lights hitting his night vision filter had temporarily blinded him. He felt something pinch his neck, and his brain went into slow motion before completely shutting down.


	10. Chapter 10

“Funnel cake?” Will offered the fried delicacy to Hank, who forced a smile and plucked off a small bite. He dusted the powdered sugar off his hands while doing yet another 360, scanning the crowd around him for any suspicious activity. 

Hank was surrounded on all sides by people shuffling around to the various tables, booths, concession stands, and performance stages. Multicolored neon lights shone all around the the street fair. It was beautiful in that obnoxious, in-your-face Bludhaven way—but at the moment, it was all just a distraction for Henry Duncan.

Hank’s eyes found a booth for a local foster home, Bludhaven Foster. Underneath the bright blue tent, a dozen children and teenagers mingled with twenty- and thirty-somethings who were looking into the adoption process. 

“What are you looking for, Hank?” Kenzie’s voice was full of concern.

“What’s up?” Hank glanced back at his friend. “Haha, nothing, just a little overstimulated by the festivities.”

“Ah, I get it. It’s not  _ what _ he’s looking for, but  _ who. _ ” Will poked Hank in the ribs and pointed toward a huddle of people. 

“There she is!” Kenzie’s words hit Hank’s ears just as the crowd seemed to part and fierce blue eyes hit him like a freight train.

_ Yikes. _

Elizabeth Carter smiled at the trio of her friends. “Hey Kenz, hey Will.” She strode past Hank and embraced Kenzie in a hug. “Hello Henry.”

Hank had only known Liz for just over a year, but he quickly figured out that the tiniest, breathy edge in her voice he heard right now was  _ never _ good to hear. 

“Isn’t it awesome, Liz? They’re giving out so much free stuff!” Will waved a foam finger in Liz’s face, thankfully breaking the tension for a moment and causing her to laugh. 

“Uh-oh, free cups, ten-o’clock!” Kenzie grabbed Will’s hand and pulled, the pair of them laughing as they weaved through the crowd toward another booth. Hank smiled at his friends’ laughter, but his smile quickly faded as he realized he was left alone with a very angry Liz Carter.

“Those two are cute, huh?” Liz’s voice no longer hid its edge beneath a layer of polite friendliness. Hank attempted to swallow whatever was in his throat and turned Liz’s way. 

“I could be wrong—but it kind of sounds like you’re upset with me.” Hank tried his best to channel Scott Daniels’ smooth-talking charm, but Liz’s blue eyes still flashed with irritation. “Okay, look, come here, I’m sorry.”

Hank pulled Liz under the Bludhaven Foster tent and off to the side, trying to find some amount of privacy away from the crowd. “Are you okay? I should have checked in the other ni—

“Hank! Of course I’m not okay, you idiot!” Her words weren’t loud, but they still rung in Hank’s ears. “We got shot at! With guns! You locked me outside the dinner theatre with a bunch of strangers, and disappeared!”

“Yeah, I did do that.” Hank struggled to meet Liz’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, really, Liz. I just—I didn’t want you to get hurt, and I… I had to do something.” 

“ _ Do something?”  _ Liz hissed with a tight smile. She was sort of laughing, but still didn’t sound happy. “You  _ did _ do something! You got those people out of harm’s way!”

Hank started to open his mouth, but quickly realized it was not yet his turn to speak.

“You didn’t want  _ me _ to get hurt? What about  _ you _ _?”_ Her eyes were still flashing, but her words came out a bit softer. “You have a fat lip,  _ again. _ What the hell did you do? You’re not some kind of superhero!” 

In his peripheral vision, Hank caught a blur of motion and turned toward it. The backside of a very large man walking briskly away from the fair. The man turned the corner, and Hank’s eyes widened as he glimpsed the silhouette of a child holding the large man’s hand disappear behind the brick building. 

_ Thump. SMACK. _

Hank doubled over, clutching at his stomach and cheek, both of them stinging and hot. 

“I’m talking to you, Hank.” Liz’s voice was cold. “You could at least look at me.”

_ A punch,  _ and  _ a slap? Really, Liz? _

Hank didn’t have time to argue. Alarms were going off inside his head, telling him he needed to find that giant man as fast as possible. 

“I’m done talking.” Hank muttered, striding past his friend. “I’m sorry, Liz.”

The hot feeling in his stomach was growing with each step as he bent forward into a brisk jog. Hank hated leaving things that way between them, but his relationship with Liz was not a priority compared to the safety of the child he saw.

Hank was sprinting by the time he turned around the corner of the old brick building. He realized it was another adoption agency, First Light Foster Home. He had skimmed through an article on the home at the library. It recently underwent renovations, paid for by NeoTurn. 

Hank’s sprint lead him to the lot behind the brick building. He scanned the area, but the lot appeared to be empty. Hank turned around, stumped. 

_ Surely that giant man couldn’t, like, fly? _

Hank hopped up the porch steps to the back door of the foster home, trying to peer through the windows and get a look inside. Tinted glass prevented him from seeing anything more than shadows. He took a seat on the steps and tried to think.

_ If I were an evil kidnapper, where would I go? _

The hot ball in his gut was reaching a boiling point. A low growl of frustration rose from his throat, and he whirled toward the door again, slamming his fist against it. He rubbed his hand gingerly, feeling very far from a high school Salutatorian.

He glared at the concrete porch steps, noticing a dark scuff mark where he had spun on the heel of his tennis shoes.  _ Oops. _

Then, he noticed another, longer scuff mark leading toward a cellar door. An image flashed through Hank’s mind of a child being pulled by the large man as she dragged her heels on the ground. 

The cellar had an expensive looking lock on it, but the cheap tire iron Hank found next to the cellar door destroyed it easily. Hank mentally thanked Scott for forcing him to play baseball for a few years and walked down the stairs into the cellar. 

* * *

Hank’s phone was running low on battery, which meant his flashlight was running low on power as well.  _ Come on, four percent. Please be enough. _

He had been walking through the dark tunnel for just under fifteen minutes, doing his best to ignore feelings of claustrophobia. 

A sudden loud clang down echoing down the tunnel from in front of Hank caused him to drop his phone.  _ Shit. _ Hank cursed himself mentally, picking up the phone to find no flashlight and a cracked screen.  _ You gotta be kidding me. _

He pushed his irritation at his phone situation into the same compartment of his mind as the rest of his anger, the anger that motivated him—the thought of an innocent child suffering because of some rich maniac. 

Hank blinked, unsure if he was hallucinating. Was that a dim white light? The end of the tunnel? He couldn’t tell how far away it was in the darkness, but Hank sprinted toward the light. As he approached, his whole body coursed with adrenaline. The light started to take shape, a large rectangular gap in the right wall of the tunnel. 

Hank stopped short of the doorway, peering around the corner. The dim light was from a long buzzing fluorescent tube on the ceiling, barely illuminating the large octagonal room that the doorway led to. 

The walls were lined with cages, Hank estimated five-by-five feet in area, maybe seven feet tall. Some cages were stacked on top of each other, three cells high. Each cage had two or three small silhouettes slumped in its corners. 

_ The missing kids. It has to be them. _

Hank began to rush into the room, but another loud clang stopped him short. He dashed back behind the doorway, watching as two men walked into the room. They looked familiar— _ Of course. _ One of the figures was hulking, maybe as tall as the cages. The large man from the fair. 

“Put him in that cell, there, Raymond.”

Hank’s eyes widened at the slow, southern drawl of Michael Turner. Hank shook his head and smacked his forehead mentally. All signs were pointing the Bond villain rich guy, but Hank figured there would be some sort of shocking twist. 

_ Nope. Of course it’s this guy.  _

Then, as the larger man, Raymond, lurched over and opened the nearest cell door, Hank kicked himself for wishing for a shocking twist. Raymond was carrying a body over his enormous shoulder, and as he tossed it into the cage and closed the door, there was just enough light in the room for Hank to see a bright blue bird on the figure’s torso.

_ Nightwing. _

A moment of silence was interrupted by a buzzing that echoed through the cavernous room. “Yes, we’ve taken care of the interruption. You’re welcome to come in.” 

As Turner drawled on, Hank unzipped his backpack as quietly as possible, putting on his brown jacket and glancing at the remains of the white mask of comedy he had taken from the theatre. At least his eyes and nose would be obscured, maybe? He tied the thin string tightly behind his head and took a deep breath. 

Another loud clang echoed through the room, and a young woman sauntered over to Turner and Raymond with a pair of large men—not as large as Raymond, but still plenty physically intimidating—following behind her. 

“I’m not thrilled that your security force has decreased in size, Mr. Turner. I felt safer at our last meeting with that small army you brought to watch over us.” The woman’s tone was all business. Hank clambered onto the empty cell nearest to him and dropped flat against its roof.

“I assure you, Ms. O’Hare, this is a very secure location. And I felt that all of the extra help I secured for the other night drew too much attention to us.” Turner shook the woman’s hand and turned toward the row of cages behind him. “I wanted to ensure that our business tonight was without interruption. I felt simply terrible about the other night, so I have decided to alter our agreement in your favor. A ‘buy-one-get-one-free’ deal, if you will. Feel free to browse all you’d like.”   
  


Hank felt like throwing up. It wasn’t a drug business, and it wasn’t just kidnapping. It was human trafficking. O’Hare and Turner walked slowly toward the opposite end of the room so the woman could examine the children in cells. 

“We keep them sedated, but I promise you that no harm comes to the children, and they are well nourished…” Turner’s voice ground against Hank’s ears.

A soft groan to his left startled Hank, and he whipped his head around only to see Nightwing starting to stir in his cell. Hank quickly dashed across the top of the cages, thankful that he didn’t have to think about the unconscious children inside noticing him. 

Hank leapt to the roof of Nightwing’s cell, a plan beginning to come together in his head. It wasn’t a great plan. It wasn’t really even a good plan. But there was no stopping now. 


	11. Chapter 11

“Hey.”

Dick’s head snapped forward, his vision obscured by white splotches. 

“Wha-”

“ _ Shhh!” _

_   
_ Dick turned slowly, taking in his surroundings. Steel bars. Some sort of cage. His eyes widened when he saw a face, upside down and half covered in a white mask, poking out from the roof of the cage.

_ Oh god, no. _

“Hank?” Dick whispered with fury. 

“First—Ix-nay on the Ank-hay.” Hank Duncan was applying a lot of effort to make his whispered words sound confident. “Second, we’ve got to stop these guys—also the gal.”

Nightwing began to stand up and scold the young man hanging off the roof of his cell, but he was still dizzy from whatever had knocked him out. He felt sluggish. He turned his head again, slowly, and saw five figures, three men, one woman, and what looked to be one giant. He tried to shake his head free from the dizziness and white splotches. 

“I can’t—” Nightwing started, “I need a little time.”

“Okay, but you only get a little.” Hank smiled wryly. “I have a terrible plan. I’m gonna go get the keys to your cell, okay? Then you help me take down that large gentleman.” 

Dick wanted to argue, but he had to repress his urge to vomit, and Hank was already gone. 

“You know what the hardest part of this superhero stuff is?” Hank’s voice was full of bravado as he leapt to the floor. He held a small tire iron in his left hand. The figures across the room spun around. Dick recognized Michael Turner’s face and narrowed his eyes.

Two of the men across the room quickly whipped pistols out of their jackets, but Turner grasped at their shoulders. “You can’t shoot guns in here! You might damage the children!”

Hank continued his speech, tossing the tire iron casually between his hands as he strode across the room. “A lot of people probably think it’s the costume. Like, are all superheroes just really good at  _ knitting?" _

The two guards ran at Hank. “More realistic thinkers would probably say the actual super-hero-ing is the hardest part. They physical feats. Jumping off rooftops, getting beat up.” 

They had a few pounds on Hank, but Dick could tell by the way they moved that they were a bit too reliant on their guns. “Okay, wait, don’t get me wrong— _ whoop _ _!”_ Hank sidestepped around a punch and smashed his tire iron into the lower back of one guard. “I don’t want to come off presumptuous.” The man made a weak grunt and crumpled to the ground.

Hank twisted his body, attempting to kick the second guard in the chest, but the guard caught his ankle and yanked Hank off balance. The tire iron flew out of Hank’s hand, but he caught himself before hitting the ground. “I—phew—I don’t necessarily consider myself a  _ super _ -hero. I’m just a guy, you know?"

Hank sprung off the ground and delivered a hard palm-strike to the guard’s stomach, and caught him in a headlock as he doubled over. “But I have the mask and everything, and since Turner over there is like straight out of a comic book, I figure I should at least give myself a superhero name.” 

“Raymond…” Turner’s voice was cold, and the giant—who must have been Raymond—began walking slowly toward Hank. Nightwing felt a pang of fear for the young man attempting to rescue him, and he pulled himself to a standing position using the cell bars. His head was clearer as he watched Hank continue his tirade.

“I’m still… Ugh… Workshopping it…” Hank struggled to keep his hold over the larger man, who was flailing his arms. “But what do you guys think of ‘Kite’?” The guard dropped to his knees, his brain robbed of oxygen, and passed out. Raymond sped up his approach toward Hank, and Nightwing’s eyes widened.

“Kite!” Hank turned around just in time to see the giant man swinging a giant fist toward him. Dick instinctively threw two wingdings, weaving them in between the bars of his cells and watching them bury themselves into Raymond’s shoulder. 

The impact of the projectiles caused Raymond to grunt and lose balance, barreling forward and clumsily tackling Hank to the ground. In a stroke of luck, the pair landed right next to Hank’s tire iron. 

“To be clear—” Hank grasped for the tool and swung it up hard, connecting with Raymond’s bald head. “I mean like the bird of prey, not the children’s toy.” 

Raymond clutched at his head, and ‘Kite’ was able to wriggle free from under the hulking man. Hank got up and took another swing at Raymond with the tire iron, but the giant caught the iron and ripped it out of Hank’s hands.

Raymond picked Hank up as though he weighed nothing, and threw him toward Nightwing’s cell. Dick winced at the  _ clang _ that erupted when the young man hit the cell bars. Hank slumped to the ground and rolled himself over with a great amount of effort, turning to face Nightwing.

“Here you go, boss.” Kite weakly reached out his hand and dropped a ring of keys just outside of Dick’s cell. The former boy wonder smirked, quickly grabbing the keys and unlocking himself.

“Well, lucky me. First try.” Nightwing narrowed his eyes at the hulking man. “Raymond, you know you shouldn’t play so rough with boys who are smaller than you.”

Raymond’s eyes widened and he flinched, covering his face as the ring of keys hurled by Nightwing sliced through the air. When Raymond brought his arms down, Dick was already on him. An escrima stick jabbed into the giant’s stomach, then another crashed into his jaw. 

Nightwing leapt over Raymond, somersaulting into a landing behind the enormous man. He kicked his foot backwards into the back of Raymond’s knee, toppling him. Raymond caught himself on one knee, growling as he whirled around—only to feel a blunt jab into his throat, and then fifty-thousand volts course through his body.

The beast had been slain, but the night wasn’t over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Turner sidling against the wall, trying to sneak out of one of the tunnels connected to the room. Nightwing smirked.

“Kid, catch!” Hank barely caught the wingding Nightwing had thrown his way, bobbling it in his gloved hands. “Go get him.”

Hank took off toward Turner, who bolted through the opening in the wall. Unlike the last tunnel, this one was well lit, giving Hank the perfect opportunity to take aim at the fleeing criminal. He took a deep breath, twisting the small, boomerang-like object in his left hand.

He flung his arm forward, and watched the wingding sail through the air, just to the right of Turner’s head. Hank groaned and started to run after Turner again, but suddenly a dark blur whizzed past his left ear. 

_ Thunk-thunk-CRACK!  _ Nightwing’s escrima stick ricocheted off the wall, then the floor, before finding the back of Turner’s knee, causing the man to come tumbling to the ground.

Hank turned around to see Nightwing walking casually toward him. “I guess I need some more practice with the boomerang-things.”

“Wingdings, kid.” Nightwing smiled and put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “So, ‘Kite’, huh?”

“It’s a work in progress—it’s kind of stupid, I know—”   
  


“No, I like it. Besides, ‘Robin’ is kind of a stupid name, too.”

* * *

“Home, sweet home.” The door to Henry Duncan’s studio apartment swung open, and Hank didn’t even bother turning a light on. He knew where everything was. His crappy bed, his small dresser full of clothes, his one lamp, his chair and desk that he got from the dumpster, and his record player, a Christmas gift from Jan. 

Hank unzipped his jacket and threw it at tossed it toward his dresser before collapsing on his bed. It wasn’t comfortable, but he was so exhausted that it felt like heaven just to lay down. He began to drift off to sleep, when he heard the loud  _ buzz _ of plastic against wood. 

  
He sat up, dumbfounded. His phone was in his pocket, and it was broken, anyway. Hank saw a dim light flash across the room on his desk. The buzzing continued, and more sound erupted from the light.

_ “He flies through the air with the greatest of ease…” _

“What the hell?” Hank walked toward his desk.

_ “The daring young man on the flying trapeze!” _

It was a ringtone. A phone screen lay on Hank’s desk, lit up by the words: 

_ Incoming Call From: NW _

Hank hesitantly picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey man! You up?” Hank could not believe the cheerful voice he heard from the phone’s speaker.

“What is happening?” 

“I’ll tell you, but let’s do it in person. See you on the roof in two minutes!”

* * *

Hank emerged from the stairwell with the phone in his hand, and took in the sight of his apartment building’s roof.  _ Of course. _

“This place is kind of a dump, dude.” Pearly white teeth flashed in the darkness through Nightwing’s smirk. “No offense.”

“None taken, I guess.” Hank walked forward toward the older young man. “Uh, so, what’s up?”

“First: business.” Nightwing took a serious tone. “Turner, Raymond, and those other two goons are safely locked away in the Bludhaven PD Lockup. It should be easy to put the lowlifes away for a long time with the help of the dozens of witnesses they were keeping in cages. The kids are all recovering in the hospital. They’re going to be just fine, and then returned to their foster homes.” 

Nightwing nodded to himself. “And, second, well, Hank, I wanted to say thanks for your help tonight.” Hank’s eyes widened. He figured he was in for another lecture.

“Uh, no prob—”

“I’m not done, Hank.” Nightwing wagged his finger at the blonde young man. “I haven’t been myself the past few months… I’ve been lost, and careless. Off my game. If it weren’t for you acting incredibly stupid, especially for such a bright kid—I might have gotten hurt, or killed.”

Nightwing paused for a moment, lost in thought. “You know, there’s CCTV footage of you fighting those guys a few nights ago. I checked the tape, and, well, you got your ass kicked. And then, I gave you a lecture. But despite all that, you kept on fighting and trying to do the right thing.”

“You probably knew this already, but I was raised by Batman. It was weird, and very hard, but also cool, and even fun, sometimes. I know that I can’t stop you from trying to help people. And I know that you said you didn’t want me to train you. But a while back, Batman told me…” Nightwing paused again, and cleared his throat. “He told me I saved him. Helped him find his way when he was lost.”

Nightwing coughed again, loudly. “So, Henry, I wanted to ask you something. I think I could use a little help. Someone to keep me honest—keep me on the ball. Kind of like a partner. And, since I’ve been doing this crime-fighting thing for quite a while, maybe that partner might pick up a few tips and tricks along the way… Would you be interested in that, Henry?”

Hank’s brain was broken. Was this really happening? Was this the moment that the chance meeting between he and Nightwing months ago had been leading up to?

Hank was hit by a wave of reality. If he accepted this, he was no longer hiding behind vague words of “trying to help”. He was fighting crime. Doing superhero stuff, for real. His mind flashed back to Tanner’s story of Batman and Robin. How much time had passed since Nightwing asked him the question?

Hank opened his mouth to speak, but Nightwing beat him to it. “What’s that?” The masked man put his finger to his ear. “Oh, perfect. Thank you, Alfie. Send it in.”

The drone was silent, and fast. If Hank blinked, he would have missed it flying overhead and dropping a small black briefcase down into Nightwing’s hands. 

“This is just a little something to sweeten the offer. Oh, you get the phone, too. I think it has doodle jump on it.” Nightwing clicked the lock on the briefcase, popping it open, and handed it to Hank.

Inside was a domino mask, like the one Nightwing wore, but white, and flecked with brown and blue, almost like the plumage of a bird. The sides of the mask curved up like wings.

“The armor is like mine, light, but tough.” 

Hank noticed the neatly folded bodysuit underneath the mask. It was a dark brown, like the feathers of a hawk, with white accents that matched the pattern of the mask. On the breastplate of the armor, the navy blue silhouette of a bird. If Hank had to guess, it was Milvus migrans, a Kite.

“This is so cool.” The words were soft, under Hank’s breath.

“I had a small hand in the design, but Alfie is the master. I guess you don’t know who that is. Anyway, what do you say?” Hank’s head tilted up and he matched Nightwing’s smirk with one of his own.

“Just two guys, trying to help, huh? I’m in.”

“Great.” Nightwing grinned and extended his arm for a handshake. “But one more thing—I heard from a source inside the Wayne Foundation that you received a full ride scholarship to take classes part time at Bludhaven Community College in the fall.”

“What? I didn’t even apply there.” Hank was confused. He hadn’t enrolled in any of the colleges he and Scott looked at. He was planning on continuing to work for Jan while trying to figure out what he wanted to do.

“I understand that your studies are  _ very  _ important to you, and you’ll  _ have  _ to put school first when we’re working together.” Nightwing’s tone had shifted. Hank had adopted a similar tone before when instructing his younger brother. _Telling_ him something rather than _asking_.

“This… This is part of the deal, huh?” Hank sighed. “I… Yeah, that’s right—my  _ studies. _ ”

“Perfect. Then we’re in agreement.” Nightwing wiggled his gloved fingers, and Hank firmly accepted the handshake. “Now put that on and let’s get started.”

Hank’s jaw dropped. “Right now? I mean—okay—it’s just, I’m really tired, and kind of still recovering from Raymond, an—”

“Hank, chill out. I’m joking.” Nightwing’s smile lit up the whole rooftop. “You can get some sleep. We can start tomorrow morning when you come to the gym.”

“When I—what?” 

“Just go ahead and let yourself in, you still have the key I gave you, right?” Nightwing was already striding away, and before Hank could ask another question, he had leapt off the roof and disappeared into the night air.

“The key I gave you…” Hank muttered to himself, turning around. His head was still swimming—what was Nightwing talking about? Hank shut the briefcase and started back toward the door to the stairwell, but was interrupted by a buzzing in his pocket. 

He pulled his new phone out and scanned over the screen.  _ ‘See you tomorrow morning, Kite!’  _ Hank rubbed his eyes before rereading the text message. The contact name at the top of the screen read: _'_ _ Dick Grayson’. _

"You’ve gotta be kidding me."

**End of Book 1**

**Hello!**

**I am writing this story purely for fun, and am very much enjoying myself with it so far. I’m sort of modeling it after the structure of a comic book series, so I’ll just be writing multiple arcs (or books) of Dick and Hank’s different adventures all within this universe. **

**I am apparently sort of a binge-writer/binge-uploader, so I apologize if updates are infrequent, but they will also probably be large ones whenever they do end up happening! Anyhow, Book 2 is coming soon, or might already be out? Who knows.**


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